


One of Those Things Where...

by Beth Harker (Beth_Harker)



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Tags and warnings to be added as needed.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-22 10:11:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 7,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14306460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beth_Harker/pseuds/Beth%20Harker
Summary: You tell the author what to write.  Put in prompt, get story.  It's what all the cool kids are doing.





	1. Chapter 1

If you've read the summary, you know what's going on here. 

Things I won't write: 

\- Smut  
\- Pairings with a large age gap.  
\- Squip Redemption  
\- Romantic Jeremy/Squip   
\- Anything that kills off one of the teenage characters (adults and Squips are fair game).  
\- Crossovers   
\- Reader X Character 

Things I will write: 

\- Angst, fluff, fluffy angst, whatever.  
\- Any pairing or character you like.  
\- hurt/comfort and sick fic (I tend to be good with this)  
\- Stories that branch off of anything else I've written (expanded scenes? Other points of view? 'What if's' and changing bits?)  
\- Character studies  
\- Pretty much anything. 

 

Stories will be posted here, unless they end up being over 3000 words, in which case they'll get posted as a separate fic.


	2. After the Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeremy's thoughts after the Halloween Party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bold text = Squip  
> Italics = Jeremy
> 
> Trigger Warnings for mentions of Do You Wanna Hang, and all that that entails.

The Squip has to control Jeremy’s body while he's driving home, because that's something Jeremy can't do to save his life.

 **That’s rather literal of you.**

The Squip is grim. 

_What do you mean?_

No answer.

But Jeremy has never been able to drive, even though he took driver’s ed during sophomore year, just like everybody else. It's always been take the bus or walk, take the bus or walk, take the bus or walk, and have an anxiety attack either way because _losers_ take the bus and _losers_ walk. 

**Stop worrying about your inability to drive. I've taken care of that.**

_Right._

Jeremy is grateful. The drive to the party had been easy. Exhilarating. Giving the Squip control of his muscles had been a good decision, the kind that opened up possibilities. Taking control of his body was one of those functions he had to give the Squip permission to access, like optic nerve blocking… or maybe he didn't need to give it permission? It had started blocking Michael before he first gave it permission, hadn't it? And it had activated his tear-ducts that one time without asking, so maybe…

**You and I mutually agreed that it would be better to block Michael from your field of vision.**

Exactly! Jeremy had agreed to block Michael from his field of vision, because Michael was jealous. He'd never cared about Jeremy. He'd only ever wanted to make sure that Jeremy was as much of a loser as himself. 

**If Michael had a Squip, he would block you as well.**

He would! Michael was such a fucking irredeemable jerk. No loyalty. He could burn to death for all that Jeremy cared. 

**It may prove fortunate that you feel that way.**

“What?” Jeremy asks, forgetting not to speak out loud. It doesn't matter, since he and the Squip are in the car alone anyway. 

**Don't think about it too much. According to my calculations, the probability of that scenario is quite low. A mere 34.6 percent.**

_I don't understand._

**You don't have to. My processing power is greater than yours.**

The car stops. It glides to a stop in Jeremy’s driveway. The Squip stops it using Jeremy’s hands. Jeremy can feel the steering wheel, but it doesn't feel like he's touching it. It’s more like being touched. 

He remembers Chloe touching him. Maybe if he hadn't let the Squip have control of his muscles that wouldn't have happened, not that anything _had_ actually happened. He tries to replay the night’s events, from Brooke, to Chloe, to Jake, to Brooke, to Michael, to Christine, to the car stopping in the driveway, where he steps out under his own power. It’s like getting off a boat. His legs are all rubbery and wrong, and the ground isn't moving but it seems to be. The Squip is right. Jeremy’s processing power has been shot to hell, and he can't process. He can't process at all. 

He opens the door of his house quietly, so as not to wake his dad. He strips off his cyborg costume. He brushes his teeth, and washes his face. He does thirty push-ups. He crawls into bed, where he sleeps peacefully and has good dreams.


	3. Anti-Squip Coalition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This only makes sense if you've read my fic Stammer. If you haven't, then skip this chapter. 
> 
> Requested by Star.
> 
> Trigger warning for brief suicide mention.

Drives to Tarrytown became a regular thing— not for the whole Squad, but for Michael, Christine, Rich, and Jeremy. Mrs. Hameln had tried to put a stop to it. Sure, she'd needed information from Michael and the others, but she was dead-ass certain that they were on the verge of some kind of huge technological war, and she wasn't up for having a coalition of child-soldiers. 

_Child-soldiers_ was the way she put it. Michael kind of resented that. He was nearly eighteen, and valuable because he’d never had a Squip himself. That made him objective! That made him powerful and smart. 

So, they'd meet, and Mrs Hameln would be like _hey stop showing up in my city uninvited_ and Michael would be like _this town is big enough for the both of us_ and then Jeremy would engage her in surprisingly good awkward smalltalk until she finally admitted that she knew stuff, like the name of the organization that made Squips, and how their other main project was Duolingo. 

“I knew it!” Christine had said, when she found out. “I mean, that owl is so passive aggressive! You sign up to learn Spanish, and next thing you know you’re being flat out manipulated into continuing these lessons. And the sentences—! I swear the sentences sound like gibberish, but they’re also subliminal messaging!” 

“Hey Christine,” Rich had said. “How do you say ‘everything about me makes me want to die’ in Spanish?” 

Every time they went to Tarrytown, Rich bought Ridwana ice cream, with money he stole out of his dad’s wallet. It was a thing. He didn't know what he was doing, just that Ridwana had been through a special kind of hell, and he wanted to make sure she could talk to somebody who got it. Actually, all of the squipped kids had been through hell, but Rich swore up and down that he only had the energy to deal with one. He didn't even like to hear the names of the others. He'd cover his ears when anyone other than Mrs. Hameln tried to talk about them. It was similar to how he was in their group. He'd help out Jeremy and listen to him, but flat out get up and leave the table whenever anybody else started to bring up their Squip issues. One time Jenna had just been telling what she’d thought was a funny story about hers, and Rich had wandered off somewhere and come to school the next day with a cast, having broken his hand punching a brick wall. 

Justin always found out when Michael was in Tarrytown. Probably Ridwana heard from Rich and passed on the information. 

Justin was spoiling to fight the Squips, but Michael didn't want that. It was the last thing in the world that Michael wanted. 

“I’m nearly thirteen,” Justin said during one of their visits. “It's not like I'm a little kid.” 

“It's exactly like you’re a little kid,” Michael had said in response. “Thirteen is the very definition of little kid. Practically an infant.” 

Later that night, Jeremy was over at Michael’s house. “Let's study for the SATs,” he said, which was a kinda weird comment to be making, considering they’d been smoking, and that wasn't known to cause industrious streaks. 

Michael had laughed at him. 

“No, seriously man. Don't you get it? Your telling Mrs. Hameln that you’re seventeen and should be fighting Squips is just like Justin telling you he's thirteen and old enough to be fighting Squips.” 

“Except seventeen is old and I've already defeated a bunch,” Michael pointed out. Jeremy was biting his lips now, so Michael watched him carefully. This time he didn't break the skin. He typed ‘SAT sample test questions’ into his phone, and handed it over to Michael. 

“Whyyyy?” Michael flopped back on his bed. 

“College?” Jeremy offered weakly. 

“Yeah, but right now?” 

“Better that than Squip shit. Mrs. Hameln is right. We need to lay off it for a bit.”


	4. Movies! Meremine style.

“So, which musical are we watching today?” Michael asked, booting up Netflix. It was Christine’s turn to choose the movie. 

“Who says I'm going to pick a musical?” 

“You’re going to pick a musical.” Jeremy said. He looked pretty excited about the prospect. He was getting big into musicals these days. Theatre geeks now outnumbered Michael two to one. Luckily, they were cute, and happy to hang around with retro B movie gremlin types. 

“I appreciate a lot of movies!” said Christine. “Like the Shape of Water. I've been meaning to see that. We could watch that, or… oh, wait! You like 80’s puppet dramas, right Michael? Little Shop of Horrors is the best 80’s puppet drama. And it's a musical!” 

“Big surprise there.” 

Christine stuck out her tongue at Michael, but she was grinning. “I even like the movie ending better than the stage ending,” Christine said. “Which is practically blasphemy, but sometimes blasphemous is where it's at. You see, on stage, Audrey and Seymour get eaten at the end, and in the film they get married. But, I mean, there's like a little version of the Audrey Two— that's the plant— so you get a sense it could come back.” 

“Wow, I wonder how this movie will end.” teased Jeremy. 

Christine just shook her head. “It's really good,” she promised. “You’ll love it.” 

The thing was, Michael was pretty sure that he would. Watching movies with friends was fun, even if they spoiled the ending, and hummed along to all of the songs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On a side note, if readers have thoughts on any of these little ficlets, please do comment on them.


	5. Shaaaaaaaaaaark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jarorrakunsenpaisan requested: 
> 
> Hey! I’d love to contribute a prompt!
> 
> I was thinking some hurt/comfort with Michael and Jeremy. Plot twist though, it’s Jeremy comforting Michael. Poor Mike has been having a hard time lately with all the new friends (Squip Squad). He’s barely even forgiven Jeremy for abandoning him, and now Jeremy had 6 new friends who want to hang out with Jeremy and Michael all the time. Basically, Michael having trust issues and having trouble letting the Squad in.
> 
> (I would die if you gave Jeremy a chronic stutter and made Michael chubby. Please.)

Michael would categorize himself as significantly less neurotic than Jeremy. He’s never kept a notebook of humiliation sheets to chronicle his daily injustices at hands of the likes of Jake Dillinger and Rich Goranski. He likes to forget those and chill with his tunes, thank you very much. Not like high school is the real world, anyway. It’s just this weird delusion that everybody else lets themselves be carried away in. 

The Menlo Park Mall, on the other hand? Totally a real place. So why is he at Sbarros with Jake, trying too make small talk while waiting for Jeremy to arrive? What can Michael even say to Jake?

They sit at the table across from each other. 

“Do you like cartoons about sharks?” Jake asks to break the silence. 

“No. Why would I?” Michael shoots back. 

“Saw a cartoon about sharks that reminded me of you.” 

Michael narrows his eyes at Jake, trying to figure out where the trick is. He's trying to make fun of Michael for sure, but with sharks? Michael’s got plenty of sensitive points, and bullies have found most of them over the years, but none of them have anything to do with oceans, or pointy teeth, or biting innocent swimmers. 

Jake does _not_ look comfortable under Michael's gaze. Ten points for Michael! He is winning the awkwardness and intimidation game. 

“You’re into documentaries, right? Dude, I saw a documentary this one time, and it was full of sharks. It's really cool, how they swim around and bite shit.” 

Michael takes out his phone. Jeremy was supposed to arrive at three o’clock, and it's three thirty. 

“You ever consider joining the jet ski badminton club?” Jake asks. “It's down a member, since y’know. You look like the kind of guy who’d be boss at jet ski badminton.” 

Ok! Now this is the kind of doublespeak that Michael understands. Jake us saying that Michael would be good at jet ski badminton in order to imply that Michael would be awful at it. Actually, Micheal is pretty freaking agile for a big guy, but he’s not into team sports. Any team of more than two kinda sucks. 

If Michael wasn't at the mall today, he could be in his basement with Jeremy getting stoned and trying to reenact video game moves. That hasn't happened in ages. It's not how things are anymore. 

Jenna gets to Sbarros before Jeremy. She says hi to Michael, then greets Jake like he's her best friend, launching into a story of Slutty Slutty Madeline. Michael should find her and befriend her out of spite. Not like she ever bothered anybody. She wasn't ever the one snickering at him and Jeremy, and pushing them around in the hallways. 

(Has Jeremy forgotten?)

Brooke and Chloe are next. Chloe doesn't even bother to say hi to Michael, just joins in the Madeline defamation campaign. 

“Hey, hey, hey! What's up suckers!” Rich arrives with his usual excitement. He high fives Jake, and pushes Michael over a little to clamor into the seat between the two of them. 

Then everyone is talking, and loudly, so Michael pretends to get an urgent text from his mom, and leaves. 

No word on when Jeremy and Christine arrive. Michael is already gone.  
————

“What's up with you?” Jeremy asks, later that week, when he's finally carved out some Michael time. They’re in Michael’s basement, and aesthetically it's like old times, only Jeremy has been reprogrammed and Michael has learned to question their friendship instead of taking everything at face value. 

“Jake says you told him you don't like sharks?” Jeremy continues. “You love documentaries about sharks! You love documentaries about everything.” 

“He hasn't earned the right to know that,” Michael says. He wishes his stupid voice would stay even. He adjusts his glasses on the bridge of his nose, then flops back against his beanbag. 

“Earned the right to know?” Jeremy repeats, with patented jerk-ass finger quotes. “Is liking documentaries something you have to have a big, carefully planned coming out about now?” 

“I bet you told him,” Michael accuses. 

“Well. Yeah. I mean, I thought it'd give you something to talk about?” 

“Just ‘cause you took shortcuts getting to know these people doesn't mean I want to.” 

“From the way you’ve been acting, I'd guess that you don't want to know them at all.” 

Michael doesn't answer. A minute or so later, the beanbag shifts, as Jeremy lies down next to him. 

“You remember that game they had, in like seventh grade, where they'd sit next to me and start asking about music and stuff, to try and get me talking, because that was so fucking funny? That I liked things and would talk about them, when specifically asked?” 

“That's not what’s going on,” Jeremy says, face close to Michael’s. 

“Could be a big elaborate version of that. A really drawn out one. Why not?” 

“Y’know I'd dump their asses if they so much as looked at you wrong,” Jeremy continues, lacing his fingers with Michael's. “Even… even Christine.” 

“Don't really think that's in Christine's make-up.” Whatever Michael thinks about Jeremy’s new squad as a whole, Christine is the exception. The only thing she does that isn't delightful is take up most of Jeremy’s time, and make him late for dumb pizza trips. 

“So talk with her more! It doesn't always have to be just the two of us, or else everybody. It can be the three of us sometimes. Like top tier inner-circle stuff.” 

Michael fiddles with the seam of his beanbag. 

“I still like it when it's just the two of us,” Jeremy says. “I mean, you’re my Michael. You’re practically everything to me.” 

Michael snorts. Deep down he loves Jeremy’s tendency to get all emo and start saying stuff like this, but it wouldn't do to let him know that hanging around talking like lovers is what really gets Michael feeling good right down to his toes. 

“Can we just have a moment without you laughing at me?” Jeremy whines. 

“Dude, no, I'm nowhere near mature enough for that.” 

“Yeah, well, same but…but… video games?” Jeremy is bright red. 

“Video games,” Michael agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like what you read, please comment on it. :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeremyistheintrovertheere asked for something with Jeremy getting his wisdom teeth out. Actually, the prompt was for fluff involving Christine and Michael taking care of a dopey Jeremy while his dad is away, but somehow I wrote angst, and Christine isn't in this one, but Jeremy's dad is. Still!! I got the wisdom teeth part right!

“Ready for your big day, private?” Jeremy dodge’s his dad’s attempt to ruffle his hair, almost falling into Michael in his haste to get away. Both father and son are grinning, playful and good natured, but something heavy hangs in the air. 

“Jeez, you make it sound like I'm getting married or something,” Jeremy says. 

“Marriage. Tooth extraction.” Mr. Heere shrugs. “Maybe it's too soon to be making those kinds of jokes.” 

It's definitely too soon to be making those kinds of jokes. “Have you ever seen wedding cake toppers?” Michael asks anyway. “Heterosexual wedding cake toppers, I mean. No offense to heteros and their weddings, but dude, half the cake toppers are like…” Michael yanks Jeremy forward by his collar to demonstrate, because apparently he’s acting out the part of bridezilla in this little pantomime. He's doing a great job, though. Ten points for smoothing out a potentially awkward moment by manhandling Jeremy. 

“Have fun!” Mr. Heere calls after them. 

“Tooth extraction!” Jeremy calls back. 

Jeremy is in fact getting a tooth extracted, an impacted wisdom tooth to be exact, and his dad had offered to bring him to the dentist, but Jeremy was having none of it. 

“Are you sure you’re cool with doing this?” Jeremy asks, as he takes his place in the passenger seat of Michael’s car. 

“Mega cool,” Michael assures him. “You sure your dad is cool with me doing this?” 

“Huh? Yeah. Why wouldn't he be?” 

“Robbing him of a chance to be fatherly and all that.” 

“Dude, no. He doesn't need to see me high on painkillers. What if I spill all my darkest secrets?” 

“Like your dolphin fursona?” 

“Like the stuff the Squip tells me.” 

“Oh.” Michael rubs the back of his neck, eyes carefully on the road. 

“You know better than to be worried or whatever. It's just, like, stuff. You know?” 

Michael does know. He knows all of Jeremy’s stuff. He's been party to most of it. He's not sure about the not being worried part. Weird, that Jeremy is so convinced that Michael can deal with it, but his dad can't. 

Never mind. At least Michael doesn't treat angst and worry like a game of strip poker. 

“I reserve the right to blackmail you if you say anything hilarious,” Michael says. “And to take pictures of your dumb post-surgical chipmunk cheeks.” 

Jeremy groans, and they drive on.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not actually in response to a prompt. I'm somewhat working on revising Stammer, with several added chapters, less typos, and maybe a different ending, and this is a part of it. Prompts remain welcome, though. There are two here that I haven't finished because they are morphing into Long Fics, but I'm more in the place to write short stuff at the moment.

In Kindergarten, during April, Michael receives a great honor. He, Michael Mell, is put in charge of the Keeping of the Stars. Mrs. Schol writes stars on the whiteboard to reward good behavior in her students, and at the end of every day Michael writes down how many they've earned in his notebook, the little one with polar bears on the front. In the mornings when he arrives at school, after he's kissed Mommy or his babysitter Stella goodbye, he races into the classroom to write the stars on the board. He draws and redraws the little box on the whiteboard, where the stars are meant to be written, keeping the lines painstakingly straight and crisp. He erases the numbers four or five times until they look just right. 

Mrs. Schol fires him for being too slow. Some girl gets the job the week after that, and once she's finished, it goes to Jeremy. On day one, his numbers are backwards, the six facing right and the nine looking like a lowercase _p_. On the second day the six is upside down, and the other kids cheer because nine is much better. Jeremy is happy. He likes having the other kids cheer him on. 

“Did-did-did you see Angela jumping up and down?” Jeremy asks at recess. To demonstrate, he bounces around until he falls over into Michael. 

“Who’s Angela?” Michael asks. 

“Angela!” Jeremy grabs fistfuls of his own hair, in a clumsy imitation of pigtails. “Angela, Angela, A-A-Angela. Brown hair Angela, likes h-horses.”

Michael shrugs. He doesn't know Angela. 

“Missy’s friend.”

Another shrug. Michael doesn't know Missy. Jeremy pouts.

“D-did I say ‘em wrong?” he asks. “They’re in our class.” 

“But I don't know them,” says Michael. 

“They’re in our class!” Jeremy repeats. 

“There are twenty-six people in our class,” Michael reminds him. Jeremy ought to understand that. Michael can remember a lot of things, like twos, fives, elevens, and tens on the times table, but he can't remember a class full of people who aren't his friends. He can remember Jeremy. That's enough. 

“There are twenty-six people in our class!” Jeremy agrees. “A-and they want me to change the stars to a bigger number! Then they-they-they… they’ll all be our friends.”

The next day, Jeremy tries to write on the blackboard that the number of stars is one thousand seven hundred. He's fired from being the keeper of the stars, and the whole class loses ten stars, ‘cause Jeremy lied. A little girl, who Michael hasn't learned the name of, because she's not Jeremy and therefore not important, starts to cry. Jeremy tells Michael later about how Angela turned on him. 

“She made me do it because she wanted to write the stars!” Jeremy says. 

“I knew she was bad news,” Michael agrees. “That's why I didn't learn her name. I don't like her.”

Eventually star writing duties cycle back to Micheal. This time he writes as sloppy as can be, with squiggly lines and icky garbage numbers that look like thunderbolts and swirls. He's fired for being too messy. It just goes to show that he can't win, any more than Jeremy can. 

Except by not caring, that is. 

Getting to write the stars is only a prize for kids that want it, and Michael doesn't. Besides, he's still got his polar bear notebook. He can write as many stars as he wants in there, for any reason he wants. He gives himself six for leveling up in Pokémon, and ten for telling a cool story to Jeremy. He gives Jeremy nine for flying super far when he jumps off the swing set at recess, and another eight for doing Morning Fun without crying. 

“Can I get a thousand?” Jeremy asks. 

“Uh-huh.” 

“What-what do I have to do?” 

Michael shrugs. “Like be funny and stuff.” 

“No! You have to make it hard. How…how… If! If you don't, how am I supposed to get better?” 

“Better at what?” 

“Better!” 

“Like at drawing?” 

“Just better.” 

“Okaaay,” Michael agrees. He doesn't really get what Jeremy means. Nonetheless, when Michael gets home that night, he draws so many stars on Jeremy’s page that his hand starts to hurt. 

Jeremy wants to be better, but to Michael he's already the best.


	8. Missed Call

Jeremy was sitting on the floor in Jake’s dorm when she called. Michael was there too, along with Jenna, Chloe, and Rich. Not a half bad reunion. Brooke even skyped in from Switzerland, where she was studying abroad, and Christine did the same from LA.

Jake was talking about his plans for graduation, and Jeremy was dodging questions about why he’d dropped out. Michael knew the story there, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to talk about it. It was a wonder that he was speaking to Jeremy at all, all things considered.

The ringing of the phone was jarring. Jeremy hung up as soon as he saw the name. Of course he did.

“Who was it?” Jake asked.

“Somebody who has no right to interrupt me when I’m finally having fun for once,” Jeremy spat back.

“Because whoever it was would know where you are and not to interrupt you,” Chloe said, as blithely callous as ever, not that she meant anything by it.

“But anyway…”

Jeremy slipped out, as Jake launched into an animated story about something great and spectacular and not a mess. He checked the name on his phone again, and then gave it a quick shake. No way in hell he was going to call her back.

“Hey.”

Jeremy just about jumped out of his skin at Michael’s quiet voice.

“I swear to god,” Jeremy said. “Mom never calls unless I’m actually in a good mood. It’s like she has a sixth sense or something.”

“How long has it been?”

“Eight months. And, yes, I’ve tried contacting her. She doesn’t answer when I call her, so why should I answer when she calls me? It’s not my job to drop everything just because she needs me or whatever.”

“Fair.”

Jeremy slumped against the wall, and Michael slumped back next to him.

“Why’re you even put here?” Jeremy asked.

“Take a wild guess.”

Jeremy raked his hand up through his hair. “Maybe I should call her back. I mean, you’re out here talking to me even though you’re pissed at me, so maybe I should do the same for her. She’s a person too.”

“In all fairness, you’re not my mom.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means what I said. You’re not my mom. Screw-up ex-boyfriend is a way different role than mom.”

The phone rang again.

“Are you gonna answer it?” Michael asked.

“I’m totally not going to answer it,” replied Jeremy, with a resolve that lasted all of forty-five seconds, before his voice cracked and he said hello.


	9. Things you said when you were afraid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for mentions of death and cancer.

Two AM, and Jeremy had been rubbing the freckle between Michael’s middle and ring fingers so long that it had ceased to tickle. The thin bit of skin there was sensitive. That was because it wasn’t touched much. Michael had seen something about that in a documentary. The human body had certain involuntary physical responses, like laughing when tickled. The more a part of the body was touched, the less likely it was to be ticklish, which was why in most people the armpits were the most vulnerable spot. After all, even the most thorough and tactile of humans didn’t usually take the time to lovingly caress the armpits of their lovers/friends/family members/designated physical contact companions/whatever/whatever/etc/etc.

(to Michael, Jeremy was a little bit of all of the above, including the etceteras and whatevers).

 

Jeremy was so focused on the freckle because he was zoning out, but at least wasn’t a bad kind of zoning out. The bad kind of zoning out involved hyperventilating, and was called a panic attack. This was just gone, like _whoosh, Jeremy in the stratosphere_. It happened. Michael checked Jeremy’s eyes, to make sure that they were unfocused and not focused on something invisible. Focused on something invisible was the worst kind of zoning out, because that meant Jeremy was talking to the Squip (or what was left of it).

“You’re being really obvious,” Jeremy muttered.

“Huh?”  
“Why don’t you just shine a light in my eyes to see if my pupils dilate? On second thought, don’t do that, or I’ll eat your face.” Jeremy flopped over onto his back, no longer curled up against Michael’s body, and no longer in rapt contemplation of a single freckle.

Michael chuckled, like somebody who found threats of having his face eaten off cute and endearing, because shit, he _did_ , especially when Jeremy sleepy-voiced each and every word. “What are you thinking?” he asked.

“How terrible it’d be if you had finger cancer.”

“Wait, what?”

Jeremy was quiet.

“Seriously, Jer, I don’t have finger cancer. It’s a birthmark that I’ve had my whole life.”

“Yeah, but if you did…”  
“I’d bequeath you my supply of Red.”

“That’s not what this is about, and you know it.”

“I’d haunt you.”

Jeremy sighed. He didn’t look exactly satisfied, but that was just him. He’d always had half a dozen fears and worries that pounded so hard on his skull that it seemed like it would explode. All things considered, Michael preferred imaginary finger cancer than Jeremy staying awake all night wondering if everybody hated him because he breathed too loudly, or frantically looking up the rate at which brain cells renewed and regenerated to see when he’d finally have a Squip free mind, as if it worked like that.

“You have permission to haunt me,” Jeremy muttered.

“Good,” said Michael. “You have permission to set up a shrine at which to leave offerings to my spirit.”

“Perfect,” said Jeremy. “Can’t wait to explain to the village exorcist why the ghost living in my house expects offerings of Doritos.”

“Exorcist!?” Michael gave Jeremy a playful shrug.

“I didn’t say I’d invite him! You know how exorcists are! Always trying stuff!”

Michael didn’t know how exorcists were, but he didn’t care. At least he’d managed to lift Jeremy’s mood, just like he always did.


	10. The one where Les Mis characters get assigned Squips

The first time that Jeremy found it in him to laugh about the Squip was during rehearsal for the school’s production of Les Miserables. Mr. Reyes was on a hot pocket break, so he and Christine had climbed into the lighting booth, to interrupt Michael’s very important technological fiddling, and make jokes about who the various Les Mis characters’ Squips would be. 

It started out seriously enough, with Christine resting her chin on Michael’s shoulder, and announcing, very somberly, that Fantine’s Squip would be Cosette. As the actress playing Fantine, her word could be taken on good authority. 

“But think about it,” she explained, “everything that Fantine ever does is for Cosette. Of course her Squip would be Cosette.” 

“I guess Marius’ Squip would be Cosette too,” said Jeremy, who was playing Marius. He could imagine it, sort of, an increasingly evil Cosette electrocuting Marius, and whispering megalomaniacal ideas in his ear. It wasn't a good image. 

“Grantaire’s would be Enjolras,” said Michael, who was not playing Grantaire, or anyone else other than himself fumbling his way through his first venture at backstage work. 

“I had no idea you shipped them,” Christine teased. 

“I do not.” 

“I mean, I’d be pretty grossed out if people tried to make my thing with the Squip a-a _thing_ ,” Jeremy pointed out. “The kind of thing that could be shipped, I mean.”

Michael nodded. “That'd be hella skeevy. Thing is, they didn't have movie stars and Supreme Court judges in ancient France, so it’s not like Grantaire would have anybody cool to choose from other than Enjolras.” 

A smile began to tug at Jeremy’s mouth, as Christine shook her head and whispered something about “ancient France”. 

“How about Valjean’s Squip?” Christine asked.

“A loaf of bread,” Michael said, as if it was an inalterable fact. This time Jeremy had to bite his lip to keep from laughing at the idea of a big loaf of bread in a white glittery suit, telling Valjean to take over the barricade and wear cooler clothing. “Javert?” Michael asked. 

“The law,” said Christine. “No, wait! The stars! Javert’s Squip would be the stars.” 

And Jeremy didn't know why, but that was enough to make him laugh and laugh, until the others were laughing with him, and there was something to be said for that, there really was. Three months ago he would have never imagined looking back on the most difficult and painful experience of his life, and having it suddenly be something so absurd that he could laugh about it until his ribs ached, but here he was.


	11. Chapter 11

**1\. Things you said at 1 AM**

**2\. Things you said under the sky and in the grass**

In the days leading up to graduation, Michael avoids Christine. He's never been great at identifying his own emotions, but he's in the midst of one, and it’s a bitch. It's like, when Christine is away, he wants her there, but when she's there, he’ll start thinking how wonderful she is, and then his throat will tighten, and a pain will start behind his eyes. It sucks ass. 

“You think it's because she's going to a different college than us?” Jeremy asks one night. He's sleeping over at Michael’s house, and they’re in the middle of one of those late night heart to hearts, where Michael is high enough to tell Jeremy worrying secrets, like how the the presence of Christine suddenly makes him physically ill. 

“I support her in that,” Michael insists. “NYU is her dream. I'm not an asshole.” 

“I’m not saying you are. I'm just saying you’re probably freaking out ‘cause you’re going to miss her. Like, how many friends have you had the experience of missing?” 

_You_ Michael doesn't say. Jeremy knows that the Squip incident was hard for Michael, and there's no need to dredge that up. It's true that Jeremy was the only friend Michael ever had prior to that, and he doesn't have a lot of experience with saying goodbye to people he cares about. One good thing about Jeremy abandoning Michael was that since Michael could've never anticipated that happening, he hadn't had time to dread it before it started. 

(At least he hadn't had time to _really_ dread it. There had maybe been this fear of in the back of his mind that Jeremy could leave him someday, but it'd been easy to shake off as unrealistic, like the fear of his airplane crashing when he visited his grandma in the Philippines)

Even so… 

“I'm morally opposed to making a big deal of her leaving,” Michael says. “I'm not that big of a dick.” 

“Yeah, but you’ve got to admit that it's getting to you,” Jeremy says, like he's wise, which he isn't. “I know what you’re like. You’ll act like nothing's happening, then all of a sudden it’ll be too much, and you’ll have a breakdown or something.” 

Michael rolls his eyes. Jeremy is the last person to get to lecture others about breakdowns. 

“You should find a way to tell her,” Jeremy continues. “Y’know, about how you want her to be happy, but you also want her to stay in touch. She's a big part of our lives!” 

“That's like saying she _has_ to keep in touch.” 

“It's like keeping the door open. Or you could just keep ignoring her. Your choice.” 

Michael doesn't answer. He thinks of how Jeremy used to make weird noises and run off whenever Christine looked in his direction. He thinks of how scared Jeremy was to start things. Michael’s not like that. He didn’t start things because he wasn't interested, and he's not interested in ending them either. He’s hella excited to start college, but the little triumvirate he, Christine, and Jeremy have formed complicates things. Michael is bad at navigating relationships at the best of times. How is he supposed to make sense of one that's rapidly changing? 

———-

Middleborough High hosts something called Project Graduation for the graduating seniors. After they receive their degrees (and pose for a million pictures with friends and relatives), they're all loaded into a bus for a night of Good Clean Fun™. It's the school’s way of making sure they don't celebrate the end of their high school career by getting hammered and causing trouble. It's the opposite of cool, but everybody goes, ‘cause it’ll be their last night together. 

The school rents out the Palace Playland theme park for the entire night, ending at five AM, and sets them loose to ride all the rides, play all the games, and eat all the junky carnival food. Until a while past midnight, that's what Michael does, always accompanied by Jeremy and Christine, but also by the other members of the Squip Squad. It's fun, and it's weird. It's like after a year and a half of being in the same friend group as Chloe Valentine and yet incredibly unsure of her, she's screaming in the seat in front of Michael on Splash Mountain and in that moment he loves her a little. It's like he can watch Rich losing at one of those ring toss games, and for the first time ever, he can't even find a trace of the kid who used to bully him. Michael’s friends are his friends, and he's so lucky to have had them. 

Much as Michael likes the amusement park ambiance, there's only so much he can take in one go. That's a thing with him. Voices are loud. Lights are bright. Things that are the funnest ever for four hours can get grating after five, and near unbearable after six. 

Jeremy knows.

So does Christine. 

“Let's take a walk,” Christine suggests, so the three of them do. They weave their way through the rides and the food and the games, Christine's hand in Michael’s, and Jeremy holding on to his shoulder. They find a grassy area a little behind the kiddy rides, which is mostly uninhabited, since high schoolers generally aren’t in the market for the teacups and choo choo trains when there are rollercoasters to conquered. 

They sit down.

For a long time they don't say anything. Michael leans back against a tree, and watches the ferris wheel lights from this new, safe distance. Jeremy leans back into Michael’s lap, and Christine leans back into Jeremy’s, and Michael revels in how good it can feel to be buried, at least when it means being buried by the best people he knows. 

His _favorite_ people.

And just like that, the thing starts with Michael’s throat, and then he has to take off his glasses and rub his eyes, ‘cause they're getting into the act too. 

Maybe Jeremy’s right. Maybe Michael should analyze what's going on, and tell Christine before it's too late. Maybe he should be all like _’yo, Christine, no big deal but I'm terrified that you won't be a part of my life anymore after tonight, and terrified of how much it's gonna hurt to lose you’_. 

Christine beats him to the punch. 

“You two know I love you, right?” she says.

“We love you back,” says Jeremy. He elbows Michael, who can only nod. 

“I'll miss you so much,” she continues. 

“Can we…” Michael swallows. He thinks he knows what he wants to say. It's not even all that melodramatic or sappy! It's just hard. 

“Can we…?” Christine repeats.

Michael has to clear his throat. “I think I want a plan. For how we’re gonna keep in touch. Like a day. Jeremy and me are gonna room together, but you’re going to be in New York, and we should decide what day we’re gonna Skype, and whether or not we’re going to meet up over winter break, or if we’re never going to meet up again, because if this is it I need some time to get used to it.” 

Christine turns to face Michael, frowning as though she's a little perplexed. “Of course we’re going to meet up again.” 

_Where?_ Michael doesn't say. _When_ he doesn't say either. He tries to smile. He's not proud of the way the corners of his mouth keep turning downward of their own accord, no matter how hard he tries to make them behave. 

Christine turns away. “We’ll Skype on Tuesdays,” she says. She wipes her eyes. “We’ll meet up the first day of winter break that we’re all back. And if you guys cry, I'm going to cry too.” 

“I wouldn't dream of crying,” says Michael, more than a little tearfully. 

“We’re not going to cry,” Christine agrees. “You know why?” 

“Why?” asks Michael. 

“Because I've got cotton candy in my purse, and we're going to eat that instead.” 

Jeremy snorts out a surprised laugh, and Michael laughs, and Christine pulls the cotton candy out of her bag, brandishing it like it's a flag. They don't say anything more about the changes to come, but at least they're together for now.


	12. Dance with me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: May I have this dance?

There are people who are supposed to be teaching Jeremy the wedding waltz for the Middleborough High production of Les Miserables. Mr. Reyes, for example, taught it to everybody else in a matter of ten minutes, and Jeremy’s eventual mastery of the steps should by all rights be his directorial responsibility. That failing, there's always Christine, or even the girl playing Cosette opposite Jeremy’s Marius. 

Instead, Michael is the one alone in the theatre with Jeremy, trying to teach him the steps, having spent his afternoon watching rehearsal, and honest to god taking notes. 

“I'm shit at this kind of thing,” Jeremy had explained over the phone the night before. “If somebody’s going to see me mess up simple blocking eight million times, I'd rather it be you. I really need you for this.” 

Michael’s never once turned Jeremy down. In truth, it's nice to have verbal affirmation that he's needed, especially after everything with the Squip. 

Standing on the stage with Jeremy, Michael glances down at the squiggly, haphazard map he’s drawn of where Jeremy is supposed to move. Then, he puts his notebook down on the floor, and takes Jeremy’s hands. “Okay, so hold on to my hips. We’re about to get real cozy, my dude.” 

Jeremy swallows, and does so. Michael puts his hands on Jeremy’s shoulders. 

“I'm not good at dancing,” Jeremy warns. 

“You don't have to be. It’s just me. Relax, okay?” 

Jeremy gives Michael a tight, not at all relaxed nod. 

“Can you hum the music for this part?” Michael asks. 

Another nod, and Jeremy begins the song, as Michael leads him through the steps as best he can. They do it three times, until Jeremy loosens up, and Michael feels comfortable suggesting he try leading. 

“I'm not good at dancing,” Jeremy reminds Michael once more. 

“So? It's a wedding waltz. It's about love, not talent. The important thing is that you act the hell out of being mega in love with your partner. I get the sense Marius is kinda a klutz anyway.” 

“I should act in love with my partner?” Jeremy repeats. It's at that moment that it dawns on Michael that _he's_ currently playing the role of Jeremy’s partner, and he's totally backed himself into a corner with this one. 

“Oh Marius!” Michael gushes, in an exaggerated falsetto. Sometimes the best defense in moments like this is to take refuge in absolute ridiculousness. 

“Ugh. Really, Michael?” 

“Marius! Marius! My darling revolutionary stud muffin!” 

Jeremy runs a hand down his red face. He's weird and picks weird things to get flustered over, but it's fun to watch. 

“Can we just… like… do the dancing thing?” Jeremy asks.

“Yeah, come on.”


	13. Anything (Stagedorks)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: You can Tell Me Anything - Stage Dorks

“How's your mouth?” Christine asks, falling into step besides Jeremy in the school hallway. “You look a lot better. You haven't got the chipmunk cheek thing going on anymore.” As Christine speaks, she links her hands with his. 

“Yeah, it's better,” Jeremy says. “The next person to describe wisdom tooth extraction as _minor_ surgery owes me five dollars, though.” 

“Way to be dramatic.” 

“I'm a theatre nerd! It's allowed.” 

“I'm just saying, it's not like they extracted your spleen.” 

Jeremy scrunches up his face, going slightly pale at the prospect. Probably he's not the right person to joke about spleens with. Spleen is a funny sounding word though, like _splat_ or _splash_. It'd be a good word to use more. 

“Did I say anything dumb when I was on pain killers?” Jeremy asks. “Michael says I didn't, but I don't believe him. That's why I didn't want you over, to be honest. If I said anything stupid, or anything that got too heavy, I am so so sorry. ‘Cause I kinda remember crying about something, and I think you were there? I didn't want you to have to deal with that.” 

Christine stops Jeremy, stepping out in front of him with either hand on his shoulder so she can look up into his eyes. “First of all,” she says, “I'm your girlfriend. I'd like to think that we can tell each other anything. Second of all—” she punctuates her words with a quick kiss “—you were crying because Michael was reading you weird animal facts and after he told you giraffes were the only animals in the world who can't yawn, you became _very_ concerned for their well-being. It was sweet, honestly.” 

“It'd really suck not to be able to yawn.” 

“Exactly! Which just goes to show you were acting totally reasonably.”


	14. Take my coat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: take my coat, it's cold outside. - meremine

One of Michael’s little known talents is that he can sew. It's nothing spectacular. He probably couldn't tailor a suit from scratch or whatever, not that he'd want to. He's into mending old stuff so he doesn't have to suffer the indignity of unfamiliar jeans that fit weird. He's into adding patches to his hoodie. The point is, Michael can sew. 

Michael can sew, and he's kinda dumb about it. Jeremy learns this watching him one afternoon, as he sits on the bed with his tongue stuck out in intense concentration, trying to fix a hole in his left sock without taking it off his foot. 

“You sure you can't think of a better way to do this?” Jeremy teases. 

“At this point it's a matter of pride. I refuse to be defeated.” 

“By what, your legs?” 

“By anyone or anything. I’m on top of this shit.” 

Another time, Michael’s moms give him a red leather jacket. They've given him a lot of jackets over the years, to little avail, as Michael has rejected all of them in favor of his trademark red hoodie. Even so, he takes to this one for some reason, and he and Jeremy go to the mall together to pick out patches for it. After that, Jeremy gets to watch Michael in his basement, straining to sew through the tough leather, absolutely determined to finish this task which he's started. 

Months later, after the whole mess with the Squip, Jeremy is walking outside with Michael and Christine. Michael is wearing the leather jacket with the painstakingly sewn on patches. It's cold, and Christine is shivering, so he offers it to her. He's got his hoodie on under it anyway. 

Christine accepts. “This is pretty,” she says, with a glance down at the arm. 

And Christine doesn't know the half of it. She doesn't know that Michael can sew, or that he worked really hard to get the patches on. Jeremy knows all these things about how amazing and good Michael is, and he never expresses it well enough. He's known Michael since he was four years old, after all. He's got dirt on every good, kind, and interesting thing he's ever done. Shouldn't it be his job to make sure that Christine is aware of all of them? If he does that, and Christine likes Michael as much as Jeremy does, then it will be the three of them, and everything might be okay. 

“Thanks,” Michael says. “The patches were a bitch to attach, but it was worth it.” 

“I know how that goes,” says Christine. 

“Right!” Jeremy adds, probably too enthusiastic for somebody who has never sewn a patch in his life, but that's not what he's trying to say anyway. “I mean. Michael’s really good at… things.” 

Micheal snorts. 

“What kind of things?” Christine asks. 

“Everything. Right, Jeremy?” 

“Right.”


End file.
